


Still Alive

by sneetchstar



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff ish, Light Angst, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 21:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18677791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Gendry tries to find Arya after the battle.  Spoilers for 8x03.





	Still Alive

He wants to find her.

No.

He _needs_ to find her.

Gendry staggers through the carnage, the heaps of bloodied and battered bodies littered around Winterfell, his sharp eyes searching for her in the dim, foggy early dawn light.

Arya. The smallest Stark. Nearly the smallest person in the battle.

He spies a small, broken body and his heart lurches for a moment, just a moment, until he realizes the body is not Arya’s, but Lyanna Mormont’s.

He takes no joy in the discovery that the fierce, brave, very young Lady fell in battle. He pauses and says a short, silent prayer for her soul. It is short on actual words but long on sentiment, and a moment later he moves on in his search.

So many bodies. So much death.

No time for tears.

He asks a few people if they’ve seen her. The Hound says he last saw her running from the room they were sheltering in, but he had no idea where she went. Gendry is surprised to see a look of concern cross the huge man’s broken face, but he doesn’t have time to give it any thought.

His brain has room for only one thought. Arya.

It pulses through his brain like a heartbeat. _Arya, Arya, Arya…_

He finds Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime slumped against a wall, leaning on one another, exhausted nearly to unconsciousness. When he asks them, Brienne lifts her head from atop Jaime’s on her shoulder and says she hasn’t seen Arya. Ser Jaime does not lift his head and apologetically admits he doesn’t even really remember who she is, earning a grunt of disgust from the Lady that only makes the broken knight chuckle.

Gendry blinks once in confusion at the strange pair’s familiarity. When Lady Brienne leans her head back down on Ser Jaime’s, he turns away to continue his search.

_No one has said they saw her fall. Run, yes. But not fall._

On top of the ramparts, he finds the spear he made for her, broken. Almost mindlessly, he finds the dragonglass spearheads and collects them, silently vowing to craft another for her.

“Arya, where are you?” he asks, looking down at the shining black glass in his hands.

The wind blows, as if answering his question, and he looks up to see motion coming from the Godswood. He walks towards it, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to see through the rolling fog.

Lord Brandon Stark is obviously one of the individuals. Gendry can make out the shape of the wheeled chair the young lord rides.

Someone small is pushing him. A small, filthy, bloodied person slowly pushes the chair over the uneven ground.

It’s her. It has to be her. Gendry tells himself it must be her because no one else is that small and that determined.

He summons what little energy he has left and hurries down.

xXx

By the time he reaches the ground floor, Arya has gotten her brother inside. Gendry waits, suddenly hesitant, not wanting to interrupt.

However, Bran knows he is there, of course. Gendry sees the young man’s gaze switch from Arya to where he is lurking in the shadows.

“Someone is waiting for you,” Bran says, his eyes still trained on Gendry. He gives him a small nod, which Gendry somehow knows is a nod of approval, though the strange boy’s expression is as stoic as always.

Gendry watches as Bran turns back to Arya, says what looks like, “Thank you,” and actually smiles at his sister.

Arya leans down and kisses her brother’s forehead, then casually saunters over towards Gendry.

“Why are you hiding?” she asks.

“I… I didn’t want to interrupt. You know… your family… stuff,” he stiltedly answers. Apart from the fact that she is covered in blood and filth, she is standing as straight as always, hands behind her back, and doesn’t appear to be in any pain. However, he knows she is in pain, but hiding it, and wonders for the thousandth time what she went through during their time apart and why she feels she needs to conceal most of her emotions most of the time now.

He also remembers the previous night, and how she had first attacked, but then opened herself to him. The trust she clearly still has in him bolsters him, and he can’t stop the slight smile pulling at his lips.

“You’re still alive,” she says, stepping closer to him. She sees the dragonglass in his hands. “Are those from my weapon?”

“Yes. I’m going to make you another,” he says.

“Why?” she asks, tilting her head.

“Because I want to. Because I want to see you use it. Proper, like,” he answers. She gives him a small, mysterious smile in response. He clears his throat. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have?”

“I… I’m glad you’re alive,” he says. “Very glad.”

“Good,” she answers. “I’m glad you’re alive too.”

They stand close together, staring at each other for a long moment. The air around them is heavy and electric, but Gendry suddenly feels awkward and strange, his words sticking in his throat. Arya is as still as death, simply looking up at him like she is expecting something.

He wishes she would just grab his face and kiss him again.

But maybe…

Now that they _didn’t_ die… maybe she only…

“Arya?” he asks, finding his voice.

“Gendry,” she replies, giving him no clue as to how she is feeling.

It is the one change in her that he cannot get used to. He quite likes the rest of the ways she has changed, but he is having trouble adjusting to this closed-off Arya Stark.

“Last night… did we… I mean, did you…” he starts and stops, speaking hesitantly. He huffs, frustrated with himself, then spits, “Was it just because you thought we were going to die?”

She steps even closer to him and places her small hands over his large ones. Then she gently eases the spearheads out of his grasp and sets them on a nearby table.

She lifts up on tiptoe and presses her lips to his, kissing him in a way that is completely different from the previous night. Her kisses then were hungry and needy, full of fire and passion. This one is soft, almost gentle. Bearing a tenderness of which anyone who saw her in battle would not have thought her capable.

“You’re still stupid, I see,” she answers after she pulls away, smirking up at him with that playfulness Gendry has missed.

“And you’ve still got bigger balls than most men I know,” he replies with a laugh, carefully wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her flush against him. “But I wouldn’t want you any other way,” he quietly adds before leaning down to kiss her, finally confident enough to initiate one himself rather than letting her continue to take the lead.

When her arms wrap around his neck, he is so enraptured that he doesn’t even notice how his body aches as it bends down to meet hers.

She pulls away again and he rests his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

“Come on,” she says, easing out of his embrace but sliding her hand down his arm, catching his hand when she reaches it.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

“To my room. We need a bath,” she answers.

“ _We? A?_ ” he repeats, his eyes widening.

“Yes, _we_ need _a_ bath,” she confirms. “Then we’re going to sleep until the next war starts.”

“As long as it’s in a proper bed this time,” he replies, blindly following her through the corridors, ignoring the curious looks from others milling around.

She laughs, a rare sound now. “A proper bed with a roaring fire keeping us cozy and warm,” she informs, pushing the door open and leading him inside. “And maybe we won’t sleep the _whole_ time,” she adds, grabbing his vest and pulling his lips back down to hers.

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into this fandom!


End file.
